Call to Rise
by hairdresser blues
Summary: It only took a day for life as she knew it to crumble. Thrown together with a pregnant teen, a sword wielding supermodel and her teddy bear bodyguard, a veteran solider, and broody green eyed drifter, they must learn to trust each other or perish.
1. Marianne Hamby

Disclaimer - I own nothing.

AN - So I'm already going through Walking Dead withdrawals. I thought I'd get through it with my own zombie story. I don't t know how much interest a story like this will have, so please drop me a line and let me know if you'd like me to continue.

Summery - It only took a day for life as she knew it to crumble. Thrown together with a pregnant teen, a sword wielding supermodel and her teddy bear bodyguard, a veteran solider, and broody green eyed drifter, they must learn to trust each other or perish. 

* * *

><p><strong>Call to Rise<strong>

* * *

><p>'Hers and hers and his three's...'<p>

_*Click*_

'There are not many people out there willing to buy this thing, but they people that are...'

_*Click*_

'4G speed...'

_*Click*_

'Explain to me how you have a career in making everyone else's dreams and love but in your own life...'

_*Click*_

With a huff of a annoyance, I carelessly tossed the remote to the side and sank back into the massive mountain of throw pillows behind me. It bounced uselessly against the sofa cushion before hitting the floor with a muted thud.

It could just go ahead and lay there for all I cared. I had already flipped through my limited channel options twice, and came back empty handed both times. Not that it really mattered. Even if there was something decent on, I probably wouldn't have been able to pay attention. I just needed something mindless to distract me for an hour or so before I sentenced myself to another long night of tossing and turning between my sheets.

Who cared what it was? Anything to fill the overwhelming silence would have been nice.

Trying to read had proved to be a rather frustrating exercise in futility. I'd re-read the same paragraph four times before resigning myself to the fact that it wasn't going to work. The words refused to sink in no matter how hard I squinted down at the page. They merely blurred together into a inky jumble until they seemed to disappear all together.

It was a damn shame. I'd been meaning to finish Cat's Cradle for months now, but long hours at work and even longer term papers had drained me of the will.

I must have burned out that part of my brain while hunched over my laptop frantically pounding away at the keyboard in an attempt to pull something half way decent out of my ass for the Theory of Literature course I was taking. Bronte was a personal favorite, but picking apart Jane Eyre line by line wasn't nearly as enjoyable as it had initially sounded. Fifteen pages of applied Marxist theory had managed to completely suck the joy out of it all together. Class conflict, and materialism versus spirituality and blah blah blah. Thinking about it was enough to bring back the dull ache in my temple that had plagued me for nearly two days.

There wasn't enough coffee and ibuprofen in the world to get me through that bullshit again. The only hope I had to make until Spring Break without a major melt down was sleep. At least eight hours of blissful, uninterrupted, have-to-peel-my-face-off-the-pillow-because-I-drooled-enough-to-fill-the-Hoover-Dam sleep.

Unfortunately that was far easier said than done. The last few nights I'd crawled in bed seeking a few hours of much needed rest, all I'd done was tear my bed apart in a desperate attempt to get comfortable. Staring up at my ceiling as first light flooded in through the blinds on the window, I couldn't help but wonder what came next.

Was this it? Endless term papers and refilling water glasses for my fellow classmates who couldn't be bothered to tip? Hell, it was no wonder I couldn't sleep thinking so bitterly. Like a curious child with one of those 'choose your adventure' books, I'd snuck a peek at all the possibilities. Turns out every single option lead to be growing old and dying alone without ever really having a true taste of excitement.

Go to school. Get a job. Get married. Pop out a few babies. Watch them repeat the same miserable process. Die.

Jesus. Maybe I should just give up already and resort to drinking like my mother. Renee's mood always improved greatly after topping off a bottle of Chardonnay. I wasn't a big fan of white wine, but there was no reason a nice Shiraz couldn't get the job done just the same. She slept like a baby, too. Drunk and asleep didn't sound half bad.

Of course the fact that she was screwing with a man nearly fifteen years her junior certainly wasn't hurting her sunny disposition either. I wasn't in the mood to even begin broaching that particular subject. Just thinking of the last time I'd gotten any made my poor stomach turn. The major downsides to alcohol could not be denied.

Banging my head back against the top of the couch, I let out a low, tortured groan. What the hell I was wrong with me lately? I'd never been so angsty in my life, not even in the thirteen to eighteen grace period where it was almost expected of you to be a moody little bitch. Quiet and bookish, sure, to a fault even, but never whiny and riddled with self indulgent teenage angst. Was this what a quarter life crisis felt like?

_I'm only twenty-two for fucks sake. _

"We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming for a channel 9 special report."

Welcome to the distraction, I lifted my head to stare blankly at the TV screen as the action news music played. "Good evening Seattle. I'm Floyd Robinson. I'll be here with you tonight as Christopher Burrows is on assignment."

"Reports of seemingly motiveless violence and senseless hysteria in the streets of Washington State have been flooding in since mid-afternoon. It was first suspected that these riots were linked to the death of a fourteen year old African America boy who was shot by a neighborhood watchman claiming self defense, while on his way to a friend's house in the area. It seems that this not the case. The panic is not contained to merely the Upper Pacific West. I've been told that documented injuries are currently in the thousands and steadily rising. We now go live to St. Mary's in Seattle with Angela Martinez...Angela?"

What in the world? I'd heard a vague thirty second report about possible riots the night before on my way to work, and hadn't given it a second thought. They hadn't alluded to nearly anything of this caliber. So help me if all of this was over college football again. Wasn't that what most riots in this country were over these days? Drunken idiots upset that their precious team lost. I wasn't entirely sure if it wasn't even football season, but it made better sense than anything else.

"I've never seen anything like this before Floyd. People of all ages and ethnicity are pouring into St. Mary's with what appear to be..."

"Bella!"

Nearly jumping out of my skin at the sound of my name echoing through my empty apartment, it took a few seconds for my brain to process the frantic banging on my door that followed. I'd heard random yelling all day, but had decided to ignore it. The apartment complex consisted mostly of WSU students. A few kids starting their day off with a few shots of cheap vodka was nothing unusual. Apparently it was something far less innocuous.

Who ever was out there was damn determined to get my attention. They certainly had it. The door knob jiggled back and forth violently as they tried in vain to get through. The banging never ceased even as the sound of blood rushing in my ears began to drown out the horrible sound.

At least they knew my name. That was a good sign, right? The thought did nothing to steady my skyrocketing pulse. Whoever was out there wanted in badly.

"Bella! Open up! Bella please! It's Jacob!"

I was at the door in a blink of an eye, yanking back the chain lock. My poor heart beat so hard it was manifesting into a physical ache in my chest. Maybe opening the door was a stupid thing to do with some kind of rioting going on out there, but I couldn't very leave a friend out in the cold for god only knows what to happen to him.

Jacob barreled past me the second the door opened, panting and twitching in panic. He spun, frantically searching for something unknown. I opened my mouth to ask him what exactly it was he was looking for, but my jaw snapped shut as he grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a jarring shake. "Jacob...what...?"

His hands were everywhere at once after that, gliding down my hair, my neck, my arms, anywhere he could reach. Finally when his wandering fingers landed on my collarbone, I slapped his hand away and demanded, "What the hell Jacob! Get your hands off of me!"

"Oh god," he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're okay. You're really okay. It's going to be okay."

"It's not going to be okay if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on!"

He decided to completely blow off my question in favor for barking orders. "You need to go pack Bella. Lightly. We need to get out of here before it's too late."

"What...?"

"Go!"

I'd had just about enough of this. Was I the only one left in Washington that hadn't lost their ever loving mind? I wanted answers, and I was damn well going to get them.

"No! I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on!"

"Please," he begged, grabbing at his long hair and tugging. "I'll explain everything later. Right now we need to get out of here. It's not safe."

"You're insane!"

"Trust me Bella, I wish this was just a paranoid freak out. We need..."

A loud bang followed by an agonized groan rang from the hallway. Jacob's eyes widened to saucers at the confusing sound. The way he whipped around would have been comical if it hadn't been for the wicked looking knife he pulled out of thin air. "Go!"

The grotesque groans were getting louder by the second. They sounded wet and thick with blood and saliva. It was enough to make me want to retch. Still, I had to do something. Someone out there was seriously injured and he was pulling a goddamn knife.

"Jacob! Put that away! You call 911, I'm going to go see if they're okay."

"Bella no!"

I paid his protest no mind. Who the hell did this kid think he was to order me around? Two dates that had fizzled out on impact out a master did not make.

He grabbed for my arm as I made a break for the door, but by a small miracle I managed to evade his gigantic grasping paws to slip out the open door. The thought of someone hemorrhaging out all over the ugly green carpet turned my stomach, but I couldn't very well leave someone bleeding out in the hallway.

What if Jacob had been the one to...

The smell that hit me as I entered the hallway would haunt me for the rest of my life. Putrid and thick like rotting meat, it was enough to bring a person to their knees. I choked on it as I took in a breath through my mouth, sputtering and coughing as I got a hint of the horrible stench on the tip of my tongue. It smelled like concentrated death. It tasted even worse.

Then I saw it. The reason.

This was no riot over a dead kid or a losing football team. No, there was a horror movie playing out in my apartment complex hallway, and the cameras were zeroed in on me. Stumbling forward in her blood soaked night gown was my sweet elderly neighbor Mrs. Hamby. Or at least what was left of the poor woman. Her stomach had been torn wide open for the world to see, her unraveled intestines spilling out of the massive hole and dragging at her feet. She hissed and snapped, moaning in terrible pain.

I stood frozen, mouth agape as she drunkenly ambled towards me with her frail arms extended forward. My brain screamed at me to turn and run, but the horrific scene kept me spellbound.

I blinked. That was all I had time to do before my ass made hit the carpet hard. The world blurred in a sickening whirl before my vision snapped back with a vengeance. It was nearly enough to give me whiplash it all happened so fast. One second I was standing there watching her struggle to reach me, and the next I was staring up from the floor as Jacob sunk his knife into her temple and gave it a vicious twist. She dropped instantly as he pulled the dirtied blade free. Finally dead, the woman was nothing more than a crumpled pile of rotting flesh at his feet.

"What...What happened to her?" I stumbled foolishly over my words as I stared at the now still corpse. "There's no way someone could have survived having their stomach ripped open like that. How was she on her feet? How was she not _dead_?"

"She was dead Bella."

"You saw her! She wasn't dead. She was up, and walking and..."

"So she got bit first."

"She was _bitten_? Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"I don't know. I just know what I've seen with my own eyes. You get bit and then you...you turn into something else. You turn into a..._thing_, a zombie."

"Zombie."

It was a word I'd heard a thousand times in a thousand different movies. Yet even as I saw Night of the Living Dead play out in front of me it sounded silly. I tried again with a laugh. At least I'd attempted a laugh. It came out as more of a hysterical rumble.

"_Zombies_."

"Yeah," Jacob agreed with a grimace, holding out a hand to help me up. "Come on. This old bird is hardly the only one in here. We need to get to your truck before it's too late to get out of here."

"Her name is Marianne," I told him flatly as I struggled to rise to my feet even with his help. My already limited grace was long gone. "Marianne Hamby."

Jacob stopped cold at my matter of fact statement, pity written across his dark features. "Not anymore."

No I supposed not. From the looks of it she hadn't been the same kind old woman who brought over tupperware containers full of pot roast and all the fixings on nights I was up until the crack of dawn cramming for a test, or knit me mittens after I'd confided how much I despised the Washington winters, for a long time. If what Jacob said was true, all it had taken was a single bite to steal everything she had been. Tears burned my eyes at the thought. I would never have Marianne's pot roast again.

"Bella," Jacob whispered, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. "You need to go pack a bag. Grab water if you have it. And a knife. Any kind of weapon. You're going to need it. I'll stay out here and keep watch."

Wiping roughly at my eyes with my sleeve, I nodded. There was no time for tears now. We needed to get moving before it was too late. I would try for my sweet neighbor later, after we managed to figure something out.

"Be careful," I whispered back as I turned and gave Mrs. Hamby one last long glance. "I'll be quick."

"It's going to be okay Bella."

I pretended not to hear him as I slipped through my apartment door. What could I possibly say in return? I know? The thought was laughable. Not ten minutes ago I had been cuddled up on my couch in the middle of an existential crisis and now the dead were apparently up and walking around. Pouting over a shitty job and a irresponsible mother just seemed to silly now.

Renee. Oh god Renee.

The man on the news had said that this, whatever this was, wasn't exclusive to the Upper West Coast. It could very well be happening in Florida too. My mother wasn't equipped with the life skills to run to the store to pick up a pack of smokes. How the hell was supposed to survive the apocalypse?

A sharp sob tore from my throat. I clasped my hand to my mouth to muffle the pitiful cries that followed, afraid of Jacob hearing. I needed to be strong now. It was a miracle he'd come to find me in the first place. The last thing I needed was to make him think I couldn't handle myself and leave me behind.

Later. Much much later. Every second I wasted was putting us at risk.

Grabbing the duffle bag on the top shelf of I my closet, I tossed it carelessly onto my bed. _A bed I would probably never get to sleep in again. _Packing was easy enough. It was fortunate that tearing clothing from hangers did not require steady hands. I didn't bother to look at what I grabbed, just blindly shoved whatever I could find into the bag. Hopefully it was all jeans, and t-shirts. With my luck I probably managed to take the very few items of dress clothing I owned.

I did take the time to make sure I grabbed bras, underwear and socks. Impending apocalypse or not, I was not about to go through it commando.

As an after thought, I tossed the book on my nightstand into the bag. Something to take my mind off the situation if and when we got some down time was my only hope at keeping my sanity. There was no better way to do that than the achingly familiar pages of Romeo and Juliet.

There was one last thing I needed to grab. Jacob had said grab a knife. I could do him one better than that. Dropping to my knees, I reached under my bed and felt around desperately for the small black metal box I had stashed their when I'd moved in.

I let out a small whoop of successful when my fingers made contact with something. It quickly died on my lips as I pulled back an empty bottle of spring water.

"Fuck!"

Holding my breath as if I was about to take a leap into water, I reached back under. It had to be under here. I'd had no reason to take it out again after I'd placed it here for safety. Growing more and more frantic, I dropped to my stomach and brought both arms into play, pushing past candy wrappers and water bottles in my search.

I'd been meaning to clean for some time. God only knew what had rolled under here since the last time I'd had the time. I supposed it didn't matter how dirty it was under my bed now anyway.

Finally, finally, my fingers landed on something hard and cold.

There in all it's glory, with the key still tapped to the top was the gun case Charlie had given me before I'd moved to Seattle for school. He'd been so worried about me getting mugged or my apartment getting robbed in the big city. I'd scoffed at the time, and reassured him I'd never have to so much as take the thing out of it's case.

What I wouldn't have given to hug him now. Hopefully I'd get the chance again. If there was anyone out there that could handle themselves it was my father. Charlie was probably sitting on his front porch with a shot gun and a cold beer picking them off one by one. It was me I wasn't so sure about.

"Bella?" Jacob called out from the living room. "Are you almost ready?"

Ripping off the key and turning the lock, I called back. "I'll be out in one second!"

A pristine 9mm .45 caliber handgun stared back at me as I opened the case. Charlie, bless him, had even had the foresight to include an unopened box of bullets. I carefully picked up the dangerous metal and tested the weight in my hand.

It felt...nice.

I could wax poetic about the brilliance of Charlie Swan later. For now I had to move. Jumping up and tossing the gun into my bag, I quickly zipped it up and tossed it over my shoulder.

"Lets go."


	2. Battered Books and Perfume Bottles

AN - Thank you all for the feedback. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I do love a good zombie story, and I don't see many of them. At least not for Twilight hah. This chapter jumps ahead a few months. The next chapter will address any unanswered questions that arise. Please R&R. It keeps me going.

* * *

><p><strong>Call to Rise<strong>

* * *

><p>It was early.<p>

By the looks of the pale sunlight filtering through the broken bay window, it couldn't have been any later than seven-thirty or eight in the morning, but there was no way to be sure. The battery on my cell phone had died long ago despite my attempts at conservation. While it had been useless for making calls, it had still been able to tell me the time and date. It was a little weird not knowing if it was Monday, or Saturday, or anything in between. I'd run on such a strict schedule before the world had crumbled. My life had been written out neatly in a planner with color coded post it notes and pen ink. Now I didn't even know the time.

I'd tried to keep track for a while after the phone had died, but it was pointless in the end. It's not like I had anywhere to be, but it would have been nice to know the date. How long it's been. The first news report had been on the 10th of March. The last time I'd known for sure had been April 7th, a Thursday. God only knew now. From the heat, my best guess it was some time in June.

Three months, maybe. At least ninety days.

Such a short amount of time felt like forever.

There was no time to dwell on that now. I needed to get moving while the getting was still good. Staying in one place for too long was dangerous, and I'd been crashing here for two days.

Stretching out my stiff muscles, I groaned in pain as I rose to my feet. Everything ached from sleeping on the floor. More like laying, really. I hadn't slept more than forty-five minutes at a time in a while. The unescapable heat didn't help matters either. Oh how I missed the sweet kiss of air conditioning. And a soft mattress. There were three bedrooms in this house, but cuddling up wasn't worth the risk of being caught unaware.

A groan outside had my breath catching in my chest. That sound could only mean one thing.

You'd think it we would be the smell that bothered me the most. There was rotting flesh at every turn, just baking away in the hot summer sun. Thick and putrid, it clung to absolutely everything. My clothing, my hair, the oxygen molecules themselves. It was impossible to escape. The sickly sweet scent of death hung heavily in the air, and burned the inside of my nostrils with every intake of breath.

Like all horrific odors, you got used to it as time passes. What choice do you have? My grandfather had worked in the Hormel meat packing plant since he had been sixteen years old. He'd told me years ago that on his first day the smell had almost been enough to bring him to his knees. It had nearly driven him from the plant in search of employment elsewhere, but his daddy had just flown the coup and there were mouths to feed. So he had thrust his shoulders back and stayed. It got easier to handle by the day. Then after a while the smell of the slaughterhouse had managed to etch itself into his skin and become part of him. I'd known that smell from birth. I suppose I had that working to my advantage at least.

The moaning was what really got me. The hissing. The growls. It was all too easy to forget that these things, whatever they were now, had been human beings once. Especially as one of them snapped their dirty teeth at your neck in desperation to feed. All for the better, really. Any trace of humanity was long gone. There was no room for compassion for the decomposing monsters that now ran the world, no reason for it. But they _had _been people not so long ago, and the sounds they made...It was the sound of suffering. As silly as it was, I couldn't help but hope like hell that they felt no pain. Most of them had been good people. Unfortunate people who hadn't had it in them to survive, but good people none the less. When I finally fell, I held no delusions about the time I had left, I prayed that someone out there stronger than me would eventually put me down.

"I got this one."

An angry kiss, and a small scuffle before the dull thud of a rotting body hitting the pavement drifted in through the open window. Then footsteps. Not the shuffling drag of the dead's feet, but live footsteps.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. _

I wouldn't have to worry about becoming one of those things if I was about the eat a bullet now. The dead were probably the least dangerous thing out there these days. It was the living you had to really watch out for, and those things certainly couldn't turn a door knob.

There was no time to make a graceful exit out the front door now. Taking a deep breath to steel my nerves, I turned and made a break for it for the hallway across the room. I could conceal myself there at least, and figure out what the hell I was going to do.

I was slipping, something no one could afford to do. I'd forgotten to lock the door after a quick run to my car that morning. What was the point? The front windows had been bashed out of this place long ago. Still, it offered a small level of comfort and protection. It was doubtful who ever was out there would have crawled through the broken glass to get inside when there so many abandoned houses on the block.

"Check the kitchen. There's gotta be something left in the cupboards."

Pressing myself tightly against the cracked drywall of the hallway, I held my breath as the foot steps passed me by. Rookie mistake, they hadn't done a walk through of the place. I still had a chance.

They wouldn't find anything. I had already cleaned out the meager offerings, a few packages of ramen noodles and a can of fruit cocktail, the day before. Unfortunately, I had left the half full bottle of peroxide and ibuprofen in the bathroom cabinet, meaning to grab them before I finally moved on. They could have it. I wasn't about to die for a few mild pain killers.

"I'm going to do a quick walk through just in case. Things are quiet around here but you never know. Might be some lurkers hanging around."

Well shit. Maybe they weren't as stupid as I had thought.

I needed an exit strategy, and I needed it ten seconds ago. Peeling myself from the wall, I dared to sneak a peek around the corner. The living room was empty. They must have gone in the opposite direction, up the stairs, but I couldn't be sure. The blood pounding in my ears was enough to drown out the subtle sound of footsteps above me.

My bag was in the bedroom room down the hall to the left. As tempting as it was to just dart forward full force out the front door while they were distracted, there was no way I could leave with out it. Other than a few pieces of clothing and a nearly empty gas can in the backseat of my car, that bag contained everything I had left in this world. Some of it necessary items, like canned goods, bandaids, a few rounds of ammunition, and a small tool kit. Other things purely sentimental. A stack of old pictures, a battered copy of Romeo and Juliet, a nearly empty bottle of perfume. Nothing that would help me live to see another day.

At least not in the traditional sense.

It was those sentimental items that had be slowly creeping backwards toward the bedroom. Call me a fool, but the thought of abandoning my last few connections to the world before it all went to shit was unbearable. I would never see my mother or father again, my brother, my friends, anyone that I loved, outside of those photographs again. If I were about to die for them, than so be it. I would die clutching the last of my humanity to my chest.

"Going somewhere, beautiful?"

The yelp I let out was highly undignified. Nearly tripping over my own feet as I whirled around to face the strange man who had wandered into my temporary domain was even worse. Weakness was a sure fire death sentence.

Unless I played the part just right.

"Please," I whimpered pathetically, mentally cringing at the sound. "I just want my backpack and I'll go. You can have anything that's here. I-I-won't fight you for it."

The man, a tall, leanly muscled fellow with a head of thick copper hair, quirked an eyebrow at my soft plea. In another time, another place, that very same look probably would have dropped my panties with ease. Even as my life hung in the balance, I couldn't help but admit that he was devastatingly handsome. All the better to lure me in. I couldn't afford to forget that he was a predator.

Or my prey. That was ultimately up to him.

My hand inched towards the waistband of my jeans. No sudden moves to draw his attention. Poor, pathetic little girls didn't carry 92F Berettas in their pants, and they certainly didn't point them at big strong men's heads.

"How long you been holed up in here, beautiful?"

"N-n-not long. Half an hour at the most."

"All alone? Can't imagine a sweet little thing like you lasting very long out here by yourself."

To lie or not to lie? Admitting to being alone could be very, very dangerous. All the more reason to attack if he knew there was no one to 'save me', right? On the other hand, if he thought I was with a group of people, he might find it as incentive to use me as some kind of leverage against them for supplies.

My hand crept another inch closer. I needed to lie through my teeth if this was going to work. Making it alone displayed a level of strength I wasn't quite ready for him to know I possessed yet

"No. We split up to scavenge what we could. Please, we're starving."

Almost there...

The man stared at me hard for a good long second, trying to access the truth of my statement. Finally he opened his mouth to call out, "Hey Jasp..."

I wasn't about to let him finish that sentence. His little friend could stay right where he was for now, blissfully unaware of what was about to go down. In one quick jerk, I pulled my gun free and aimed for the middle of his forehead. A hot flash of anger ran through me when all the man did was smirk in response.

"Do I still look like a sweet little thing to you, asshole?"

His smirk only grew wider as I waved my pistol in his face. "You almost had me going there for a second, sweetheart. I'm impressed."

"One more pet name and those dead things will be licking your brains off the walls for weeks to come."

Then he had the audacity to laugh. _Laugh_. "Okay, okay. Don't get your panties in a twist. What should I call you then?

"You don't have to call me anything," I snapped. "Just put your hands above your head and move aside. I was serious when I said all I wanted was my backpack and I'd be gone."

"Come on beautiful. I just want to know your name."

"What did I tell you?"

"I'm Edward," he offered simply, completely unfazed by the gun in his face. I was half surprised he didn't offer me his hand to shake. "It's a pleasure, Ms...?"

"Are you fucking serious? Hands above your head and move aside. Now."

"Not until you tell me your name, beautiful. It'd be a damn shame to walk out of here without knowing the right name to call out later tonight when I replay this little scene in my head."

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?"

Fuck. There was no way his friend hadn't heard that. I really didn't want to shoot this man...Edward. God, knowing his name was just going to make it so much worse if it came down to that. I'd managed to make it through all this time without ever having to so much pull a gun on another living human being. Quick, and discreet when on the move, I'd never had to. This was too much.

"Less of course, you're planning on joining me in my sleeping bag tonight. I haven't had a good lay since..."

"You have until the count of three to press yourself face first into that wall, hands flat against it, before I blow your head off."

"Come on, sweetheart. Just your name."

"One."

He didn't move.

"Two."

_Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. _

"Th..."

"I do believe this is the first time I've ever seen you smile Edward."

Slowly turning my head, my gun still trained on the arrogant redhead, I silently cursed. A tall, blonde man with a ragged scars up and down his arms had a rifle pointed in my direction now. His face did not belay the amusement in his voice. It was stone cold.

"Funny it took a gun to your head to do the trick."

"Take another step and I end him."

"You really think you can shoot him and turn that thing on me before I put one in your chest? Drop your weapon and put your hands up."

"My people have guns," I lied in desperation. My hands were starting to shake, and there was no doubt they could see it. "Big ones. If they hear a shot, they'll be on you in a the blink of an eye."

"She's lying," the copper headed man told his friend before I could even close my mouth.

"Shut up!"

"I don't want to hurt you, darlin'."

"Bullshit."

"I don't blame you for being cautious. It's why you're still alive. It's why we're all still alive, but I need you to drop your gun. We'll talk this out."

"There's nothing to talk about," I shook my head. "I just want my backpack."

"You'll get your backpack. But you need to drop your weapon first."

"You first."

"Not going to happen, darlin'. I promise I won't shoot. The last thing any of us want is to attract a swarm of walkers in here."

There was no way out of this. The blonde was right. Even if I did manage to take out the arrogant asshole to my right, there was no way I could turn my gun before I went down myself. And even if I did, there would be a herd of those dead things coming after the noise. The yelling was bad enough.

Slowly I brought my arm down. "I'd like to keep a hold of it if you don't mind."

"I don't care what you do with it as long as its not pointed at my head," Edward said snidely as he pushed past me to join his friend by the door.

The polite part of me that lingered from a time before wanted to apologize. Instead I pursed my lips and said, "I think I'll be going now."

"Hold on. We just want to talk to you."

"Well, I'm not really in the mood for a conversation. All the yelling has to have a attracted at least three or four of those things. What did you call them? Walkers?"

"Biters, roamers, geeks. Take your pick, sweetheart."

"Jesus Christ," I bit out. What could it really hurt if they knew my name? "It's Bella."

"How long you been out here by yourself, Bella?"

A brutal spike of pain pierced my chest at the question. I wouldn't have been alone if I hadn't been so foolish in the beginning. If I hadn't...No, there was no reason to go down that road. What's done is done. Jacob was dead.

"For a while."

"It takes a hell of a woman to stay alive on her own," the blonde one smiled. "We could use someone like you."

"It's more dumb luck than skill," I denied with a sad shake of my head.

"We could use some of that too."

"Look, I'm not buying what you're selling. I get around better by myself."

"There's safety in numbers. We..."

The groaning and hissing was back, louder this time. Only one thing that could mean. For that amount of noise, there had to be at least ten of them coming their way, and I wasn't about to stick around to face them.

"It was nice meeting you boys," I forced a smile as I slowly back up. "But I'll definitely be heading out now."

There was a window in the bedroom where my bag was. It would be easy enough to slip through it. The backyeard was fenced off, but I could hopefully hop it. My coordination had improved some over time, but not by much. I had no choice but to take my chances. The apocalypse was definitely not meant for the clumsy. Jacob had been strong, and fast on his feet. Perfectly built to survive this. My inability to so much as walk a straight line had been what had killed him in the end. I might as well have bit into his flesh myself.

Shaking the thoughts away, I snatched my bag from the end of the bed and jerked the window open. The backyard was clear. Without giving it further thought, I tossed my precious burden through and hoisted myself up. I'd hop the fence and just keep running. My truck would have to wait for later after things cleared out a little.

"Hurry up!"

A bolt of shock shot through me at the voice. It was Edward's.

Turning as soon as my feet hit the ground, I demanded, "What are you doing?"

He smiled in response. "I'm letting you take the lead."

There was no time to argue about it. It seemed I had some new, temporary travel companions after all.


End file.
